parasitical tendencies
by wild wolf free17
Summary: They’re all tangled up inside him, interconnected strings, a web around him and through him. -drabble anthology-
1. parasitical tendencies

**Title**: parasitical tendencies

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: mid-season 1 Peter

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 100

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Note**: I wrote this when I hadn't seen any of seasons 2 or 3.

* * *

They're all tangled up inside him, interconnected strings, a web around him and through him. He's a sponge, soaking up abilities like water—like a parasite.

He's nothing without others, just that lost dreamer—but he could become the most powerful. He doesn't even know if he has a limit, a point where he's taken too many. He wants to find out, to try it all. He's nothing without the rest, not even realizing as he copies their ability.

They are pieces of him now, facets of his being, skills he never learned yet possesses. He is just a parasite.


	2. we are the sum

**Title**: we are the sum

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Aristotle.

**Warnings**: goes AU during season one; I've yet to watch season three; character death

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 300

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

When it comes down to it, when they're the only two standing in a battlefield stained red with blood, it isn't about strength or passion or revenge or anything but the desire to survive.

Peter has nothing left to live for except vengeance and the need to hurt and sheer bullheadedness.

But Sylar has only ever lived for himself, and that is enough. They have all the same abilities, now, equally matched in every way save one. They can throw the same attack and use the same countering maneuver, anticipating and blocking so quickly no one else could see it. If anyone were around to see.

But they're alone here, all that's left. Any the humans didn't get, Sylar harvested. Peter tries to use the rage to his advantage, to supplement his power just a little bit more. It doesn't work.

Sylar has better control, is quicker, sees every move coming seconds before Peter thinks to do it. Sylar can add all the abilities together in ways Peter has never thought to imagine. Sylar has an ease Peter can't mimic, can't touch, and he's failing. Failing Matt and Hiro and Niki, Mohinder and Claire and Mom. He's failing Nathan by falling to his knees, too exhausted to keep fighting.

He's failing everyone this monster already took, everyone he will after this, when he's left with the world spread wide before him, no one able to match him, to stop him.

Peter stares up at Sylar with tear-filled eyes and waits. Sylar smirks down at him, arms crossed, body held loosely, confidently. Peter expects his head to be cut open, his brain studied, like Sylar almost did in Mohinder's apartment a lifetime ago.

Instead, Sylar carefully inserts a piece of bone into that one weak spot and Peter whimpers, thinks _NathanClaireforgive_—


	3. whatever we were before now we are still

**Title**: whatever we were before now we are still

**Fandom**: "Heroes"/_Terminator: Salvation_

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Adrienne Rich

**Warnings**: spoilers for film; I only know the basics of "Heroes" season 3

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 250

**Point of view**: third

* * *

On Judgment Day, Micah Sanders has been dead for over five years. Sylar's pissed neither he nor Peter ever got the kid's ability. And he's _really_ pissed that somewhere along the way, Peter lost Hiro's because timetravel sure would come in handy right-about now.

Sylar glares at the flying machine—in those broadcasts, John Connor had called it a HunterKiller—and reaches out with his mind, pushing tendrils of ice-cold air into its circuits. When it's full, he calls to the ice and the HunterKiller explodes into frozen shards.

They keep coming, and he forces two into each other, then decides any living thing left in this city is a fucking moron and deserves to burn with the robots. He focuses on energy and then lets it build build build _explode_.

"Sylar!" Peter yells from miles away. "There were still people here!"

_Micah Sander's power could have stopped this,_ Sylar thinks. _What's the point of immortality if it's spent fighting sentient machines? _

He launches into the sky, moving on to the next target. Get rid of all the fucking machines has replaced gaining abilities as his mission.

Despite his rage, and their mutual hatred, Peter joins him in the air. Maybe they'll go back to battling after the machines are gone, and maybe they won't. For the moment, though, their common goal outweighs their past.

_Where to next?_ Peter asks, keeping pace with him.

_There's a major factory in San Francisco_, Sylar answers.

In unison, they turn west.


	4. identity found

**Title**: identity found

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for season 3

**Pairings**: implied Sylar/Mohinder

**Rating**: R

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Wordcount**: 230

**Prompt**: am

* * *

_I am Sylar_, he carves into flesh, his own and others'. _I am Sylar. I am, I was, I will be—SYLAR. _He cuts the words into arms and torsos, into thighs and backs. His name, over and over, a threat, a promise, an inescapable fact.

_I am Sylar, I am Sylar. No longer insignificant, nothing, forgetful and weak. I am special, I am unique, I am power—I am Sylar._

His flesh heals, the words fading back into his body. The others die, bleeding out and crying. He watches, the promise on his skin comforting after living the lie. _I am Sylar_, he whispers. _I am Sylar._

Angela Petrelli sobs, wrists tied together, legs broken. _Please_, she begs, unable to look away from her dead conspirators, the men who locked him inside someone else's memories. _Please, Gabriel_.

He turns to face her. Everyone else has already been punished, those who stood at his funeral pyre and cheered his passing. Only Angela and Mohinder remain, and he has plans for the doctor. Slow, sweet plans.

_Angela_, he says. _You are not my mother_. Twice now, she has lied about that. He strides up to her and looks her over—the pale skin, frightened eyes, blood sluggishly dribbling out.

_Please_, she cries. _You've already killed my sons. My granddaughter. _

_Say my name,_ he demands.

She closes her eyes. _Sylar_.


	5. knights to kill, dragons to ride

**Title**: knights to kill, dragons to ride

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: AU during season three

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 100

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Mohinder/Sylar, recapturing the past

* * *

It's not the same. They each know what the other is now, the mad scientist and the supervillain.

It doesn't matter. They've tried the other way, tried to be the hero. They both have blood on their hands and the best of intentions that lead straight to a lake of fire.

This time, there is no destination in mind, no special person with an ability at the end of their quest, no message to deliver.

They're being chased, of course, by Nathan and the government, by Peter and the rest.

No, it's not the same. And no, it doesn't matter.


	6. blood will out

**Title**: blood will out

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for season 3

**Pairings**: none sated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 235

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Sylar, "One day I shall burst my bud of calm and blossom into hysteria." (Anonymous)

* * *

Something's wrong with Nathan. Peter watches him, how he moves, how he speaks, the way he always fiddles with his watch. He didn't used to do that.

Sometimes, it's almost like something else is looking out of Nathan's eyes. And the words he chooses, the way he says them—different intonations. Everything is different, but no one else seems to notice. Mom is as scary and clingy as ever, Bennett's off with his daughter, everyone has gone their separate ways as Nathan cleans up the mess he made, and _no one else notices_.

Nathan isn't Nathan. He's someone playing a part, and playing it well, but Peter has spent all his life watching his brother. And the man wearing Nathan's face? Is not his brother.

He doesn't want to think it, but Nathan flew out the window with Sylar, and Sylar was a shapeshifter. Nothing else makes sense and he buries his face in his hands, tears pricking in his eyes.

His brother is dead. Who else knows? Matt must. Matt was at the pyre. Bennett—where else did the body they burn come from?

Nathan is dead and his killer is walking around wearing his skin.

Peter clenches his fists and does nothing. He'll wait and see, because no cage can last forever and when Sylar escapes—

Peter shoves the knowledge deep down because he's meeting Nathan for lunch and he can't let on.


	7. strays

**Title**: strays

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for season 3

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG13

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Wordcount**: 280

**Prompt**: Sylar/Luke learning to trust again

* * *

After the clusterfuck that is Sylar's might crammed into an incestuous politician, Sylar leaves New York in a fury. He has no destination in mind except far fucking away, and he leaves a trail of corpses in his wake.

As Gabriel Petrelli(a lie) and Nathan Petrelli(another lie) he loved them. Gabriel Gray had no feelings except regret, but Sylar—well, Sylar never did well with cages.

Luckily for sweet Claire, she was in California. Unluckily for Bennet(but quite the present for Sylar), he was visiting with Mommy Petrelli and Sylar made them watch each other die. Most everyone else was also somewhere in the city, all those stupid pains-in-the-ass who watched him burn and cheered, who tormented him by existing since the first time he met Claire.

He leaves Mohinder alone, but only him. Anyone else he can find, he takes out his rage on. Some of them he harvests; some he just rips apart. Depending on his mood.

He's just past the state line, trying out his new abilities one by one, when he sees a familiar form hitchhiking.

Sylar pauses. Luke hasn't noticed him yet; the kid looks tired. He clearly can't take care of himself. Not surprising. What does take Sylar off-guard is that he doesn't want anyone else to take care of Luke. The kid may be a dumb stray, but he's _Sylar's_ dumb stray. Sylar cast him aside once before, but he was confused and angry, and may very well have killed Luke, if Luke kept pushing.

Well. A sidekick can always come in handy, and Luke's puppy-eyed hero-worship was pretty nice. And every supervillain needs a pupil, just as every ruler needs an heir.


	8. playdates

**Title**: playdates

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: "I am become Death" future

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 150

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Elle & little!Noah, sandy beaches

* * *

Sometimes, when the voices in Gabriel's head get to be too much, Elle takes Noah to the beach. They build sandcastles and sandangels, play in the waves, chase seagulls. It's the most peaceful she ever feels, spending time with Gabriel's son.

He never calls her mommy or mama. She kisses his cheek and his forehead, tickles him till he begs for mercy, laughing almost too hard to breathe.

Gabriel always smiles at her when she brings Noah back, brushes his fingers along her hand or her face. "Thank you," he says.

He never kisses her. She never mentions Sylar or her father.

(When Claire catches up to her, Elle doesn't have a chance to tell her what a mistake she's made because Sylar's sleeping in Gabriel, and he doesn't trust anyone else enough to let them take Noah away so he can have time to make the voices stop.)


	9. locks torn wide

**Title**: locks torn wide

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for season 3

**Pairings**: implied Sylar/Mohinder

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 345

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: breaking through

* * *

When he remembers, it's not some big thing that jogs his memory. It's so small that no one else notices.

His watch is off by three-point-five seconds and it's driving him mad. Thing is, Nathan Petrelli has never restored timepieces(and why is that the phrase that comes to mind? Why not _watchmaker_?) and would not have ever noticed the time off by such an infinitesimal amount.

But he _does_. And while he's alone in his room, trying to take it apart because he has to fix it, all the walls in his mind come crumbling down.

Sylar restores the timepiece in ten seconds, telekinesis still his strongest ability, while he's seething. "Parkman," he hisses. "Angela. Bennet."

"Nathan!" he hears his fake mother call. "Sweetheart, time for lunch! Peter's waiting."

He quickly shifts back into that hated body, Nathan's memories clamoring to reclaim him. "Of course, Mother," he murmurs. "Let's not keep Pete waiting."

Sylar puts on his watch and goes downstairs, where he calls Angela _Ma_ and kisses her cheek. Now that he's looking for it, he sees the set of her shoulders, the uncomfortable expression on her face—just a moment, and then it's gone, and she's smiling at Nathan, her firstborn son.

The monster finally freed from his cage imagines her skull torn open and smiles.

o0o

After lunch, when Ma-Mother-Angela-Warden is napping and Peter's gone back to work, Sylar decides to pay Mohinder a visit. He wonders how long it will take Mohinder to notice that 'Nathan' isn't acting very Nathan-like.

Mohinder greets him with a smile and a name he now loathes; Sylar follows him around the lab as he explains his newest breakthrough in research.

"What's wrong?" Mohinder finally asks. "You're quiet."

Sylar gives him a shy smile with Nathan's face and says, "Just thinking. Your father would be proud of you, Mohinder."

Mohinder replies sincerely, "Thank you, Nathan."

"We'll remake the world," Sylar tells him.

"We've already tried that, Nathan," Mohinder says. "Remember that debacle?"

"Mohinder," Sylar purrs, dropping Nathan's mask and stretching to his full height. "I haven't tried yet."


	10. vengeance

**Title**: vengeance

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for season 3

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 150

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Bennet/author's choice, plan

* * *

When Sylar breaks out of his cage of memories and lies, the first person he goes to is Bennet. Next will be Angela, then Parkman, but Bennet is special.

He's already taken Claire, and it's not like she could die for long, anyway. The wife and son aren't important enough for this, and their deaths would only hurt for a time.

Back when he was trapped in that cell in Texas, he'd had plans upon plans. He made minute changes in them hourly, but the basics stayed the same: _escape, harvest Claire, make them all pay_.

Sylar waits in Bennet's hotel room and knows the plan is still the same. Two parts are already completed and the third will start just as soon as Bennet gets home.

He grins, shifting into Claire's form. "It's going to hurt," he murmurs in her voice and settles the too-small body onto the couch.


	11. what little girl doesn't dearly love

**Title**: what little girl doesn't dearly love a wolf?

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Carol Ann Duffy

**Warnings**: future!fic

**Pairings**: Sylar/Claire

**Rating**: PGish

**Wordcount**: 270

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Sylar/Claire, I wanna be bad

* * *

It only takes a hundred years. Looking back later, she'll realize how short a time that is for an immortal. But then, then it felt like every moment dragged.

He never actually touches her. Kills everyone she cares about, Mom and Lyle and Dad. Both dads. Peter. She still tries not to think about that, about what it took for Peter to die.

But she watches the years pass, the changes in society, babies wither to nonagenarians. She never ages, never gets a wrinkle or a scar. Never bleeds for longer than a heartbeat.

He's always there. She can feel him when she can't see him, a puff of air on the back of her neck, a shiver down her spine.

But he never touches her. Never speaks to her. Just always there, the only other one like her in existence.

He kills everyone else. Anyone cursed with that little twist in their genetic code. He finds them and takes their ability and leaves a corpse behind. She never gets there soon enough because she's only a healer.

She used to bring them back, in those first decades, if she got there before the funeral, before the reporters, before the police. That only happened a couple of times.

But after a hundred years, she's tired of being the hero. It's exhausting and she's alone. She misses people who knew, who understood.

He's a monster, but he's the only one left.

He hasn't touched her in a hundred years and she still shudders at the feel of his skin on hers. But she'll get used to it.

Eventually, she'll crave it.


	12. pereat mundus

**Title**: pereat mundus

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for up to 4.2

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 350

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Notes**: title is Latin—_let the world perish_

* * *

When he sleeps, he dreams in shades of gray. The sky rains fire and blood, and people beg for mercy. Sometimes their heads are cut in half. Sometimes they're ripped apart. They look like his family, like Ma and Pete and Claire. Sometimes, in his waking hours, he can't remember his ex-wife's name, or their sons.

Sometimes, in the dreams, Ma and Pete and Claire call him monster. Sometimes they threaten to kill him.

Sometimes, he smiles while they cry. He doesn't understand—before Sylar's death, it wasn't like this.

_You know how things work_, a dark voice purrs in the back of his mind. _So what does that mean?_

He wants to talk to Mohinder or Peter, but neither will pick up the phone. He wants to ask Ma to fix things, but all she ever does is lie.

_No one to trust_, the dark voice says. _Nowhere to turn. What will you do?_

He never looks in the mirror when he dreams. He avoids it whenever possible while awake. In the morning, he doesn't feel rested. At night, he's exhausted. He's always hungry, but no matter how much he eats, he's never sated.

He hasn't flown since Sylar followed him out the window.

Ma tells him to sleep more. To quit working so hard. To not worry—she has everything in hand.

When he dreams, she calls him Gabriel and unleashes him on a world completely unprepared.

He leaves a dozen messages on Mohinder's voicemail before the number is disconnected.

In his dreams, Mohinder says _This is vengeance. And it's going to hurt_.

The dark voice murmurs, _Ah, Mohinder. So righteous. How the mighty fall_.

He calls Peter, but Peter never answers or calls back. Bennet avoids him. Parkman fled across the country and wants nothing to do with the Company.

Ma calls him _darling boy_ and it feels like a lie.

_You know_, the dark voice says while a man begs for his life in a gray- and red-hued dream. _You know. Tell me your name_.

He looks into a mirror, waking as Mohinder's memory gasps, "Sylar."


	13. roused the vengeance

**Title**: roused the vengeance blood alone could quell

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Byron

**Warnings**: AU; character death

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 375

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

"You really had no idea, did you?" Sylar asks, studying Samuel, hung up on thin air, gasping for breath, grasping at the nothing choking him.

"You took me in—thank you for that," he says, spinning Samuel around as the ground churns beneath them, trying to suck Sylar in and save Samuel. But they float out of reach, Sylar finally back home in his own skin, in control of all his abilities again.

The entire carnival is up on arms, trying to reach them. "You wanted me to love you like they do," Sylar muses, cocking his head towards the screaming crowd. "You tricked me, tried to use me."

Samuel's power flares out in his death throes and Sylar studies it, adding it to his cache. After Samuel dies, Sylar lets him drop and the crowd howls in anguish and fury. Sylar turns to look at them, choosing which ones have a power he'd like. Only a few—Edgar's superspeed, definitely, so Sylar summons him forward.

"Edgar!" pretty Lydia cries. "Nathan, please!"

Sylar smiles at her. "Lydia," he says, "you know better. You can drop the act."

Edgar spits at him and Sylar laughs, spinning him in place. With a quick jerk of his finger, the top of Edgar's head goes flying.

Lydia sobs. Sylar studies Edgar's ability, claiming it for himself, then focuses back on the crowd. The fire-thrower, and probably the invisible girl—he never did get that one, back when Peter interrupted his playtime with Mohinder. Sylar sends his power out, separating the useless carnies from the ones he wants. Only a handful remain on the left, and he continues harvesting.

Once he's done, he shifts the earth, burying all the evidence he hasn't already burned.

Samuel took him in, yes, but only to harness his power—like the Petrelli family had. Samuel wanted to use his abilities as a weapon, tried to manipulate him. Samuel wasn't nearly as clever as he thought himself, and now he's learned his lesson.

Sylar smiles at the cleared earth and then takes to the sky. He has appointments to keep, unfinished business to wrap up in New York—Mama Petrelli and Bennet owe him a few months of his life, and they'll pay in full.


	14. breakfast of champions

**Title**: breakfast of champions

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: 3.4 future

**Pairings**: Hiro/Gabriel(ish)

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 175

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt: **Hiro/Author's Choice, "Waffles?"

* * *

He doesn't often stop by anymore. It's easier back home, away from Americans and their crazy politics—Flying Man has lost his mind, hunting his own kind. Again.

He really needs to stop using that name for Petrelli. Petrelli is not Flying Man. Petrelli is a traitor.

Sometimes, he wants to kill Petrelli. Become that man he saw in one future, where Gabriel wore Petrelli's face and ruled.

But he is not that man. Ando says there is still hope, and so does Gabriel.

"If I can change," he's said over more than one breakfast, cutting up Noah's waffles, "anyone can."

Seeing a knife in Gabriel's hand always makes him think of Sylar and Kirby Plaza, and the monster the cheerleader has become.

"Don't think about it," Gabriel always says when his thoughts turn back to the old days. He drops a kiss to Noah's brow and settles in his own seat.

Seeing Gabriel gives him hope. So when things are hopeless, he teleports to Costa Verde and Gabriel welcomes him with a large smile and "Waffles?"


	15. happy though thou art

**Title**: happy though thou art, happier thou may'st be

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Milton

**Warnings**: takes place just after 4.15; AU

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 275

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

When he slept, he dreamt Nathan's dreams. He remembered people he'd never met, places he'd never been, things he'd never done. He knew that Nathan still lingered—Nathan kept him from killing Samuel, from exacting vengeance of Ma and Pete—Angela and Peter. They weren't his family. Had never been his family.

Even now, as he watched Claire, Nathan murmured in the back of his mind. It was really starting to piss him off. What was the point of having power if a ghost kept him from ever using it? Before he could move forward, he'd have to exorcise the remnants of Nathan Petrelli.

Sylar flew back to the watch shop, where he used to restore timepieces. It seemed like another life, decades ago, but it hadn't even been five years. So much had changed, but Gray and Sons still looked the same: old and beaten down. A relic.

When he stepped inside, it felt like coming home. Like he'd never met Chandra, like everything that followed never happened. Nathan retreated beneath the onslaught of Gabriel, and Sylar sighed in relief as Gabriel seeped back into his skin.

Gabriel enveloped him in a warm embrace and Sylar relaxed while Nathan vanished to merely a pinpoint of light, flickering weakly. Only two people could fit in this skin and Sylar refused to submit, while Gabriel belonged like no other.

And Nathan wavered, and Nathan died, and Sylar stood tall victorious as Gabriel faded back into the mists of Sylar's consciousness.

Finally.

He'd start with Angela and Peter, then return to Samuel, and then, as a last, tasty morsel, Bennet.

Conveniently enough, he knew where Angela lived.


	16. is God crying?

**Title**: is God crying?

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: future!fic

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 225

**Point of view**: third

**Prompts**: Sylar/any, yell at the tears of God

* * *

Of all the powers he's taken, this is his favorite, right up there with his beloved telekinesis.

As a boy, back when he tried to please his parents all the time, kept quiet and to himself, toiling away as an apprentice timepiece restorer, he used to watch the rain and wonder.

Now he creates the rain with his will and his might, using this precious ability better than the fool born with it. That is his gift, his innate ability to master the quirks and turns of everything he meets, and even the weather--so powerful, so great--is his to command, now.

The world is all before him.

He laughs as Peter--oh, sad, sorry Peter, look what you have wrought with your kindness, with your forgiving nature--Peter cries and pleads, begging him to stop, to set them free.

The rain is gentle, just a light spring storm, here in hurricane country. A storm is coming, though, such a storm.

"Peter," he says quietly, and Peter subsides.

Peter's ability today is Mohinder's, but Sylar has that one, too, and a hundred others besides, and he won't let Peter touch him.

"Peter," he says again. "I am become God."

He laughs, louder and longer, and Peter screams, first in fury and then in fear, because Sylar will let no other masters live.

And it rains.


	17. a falling dove

**Title**: a falling dove

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: preseries

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 165

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Gabriel (+ or / any, if desired), he fears someone is going to figure out what he's done.

* * *

Gabriel still thinks he can be saved. All it would take is someone-_anyone_-noticing what he's doing-_so much blood, so many tears_-and he can still be saved. Rescued from the hunger, from the power and the pain, from the begging and screaming and damning desire.

Gabriel still thinks he's a good man. Someone doing his best to live quietly, to not hurt others, to simply exist without harm. Gabriel still thinks there's hope for him.

Gabriel thinks that a good steak dinner with potatoes can fill him up, sate him, send him to bed happy, and Mom is just the person to make him that meal.

(Sylar knows better. Sylar knows he can't be saved, that he never could've been, and it doesn't matter if anyone figures out what he's doing. Soon enough, he'll be so powerful that no one can stop him.

Gabriel thinks he's normal. Sylar knows better.

Sylar knows just how special Gabriel truly is, and he's waiting to show the world.)


	18. scary meet and scary part

**Title**: scary meet and scary part, and scary meet again

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: AU after season 3

**Pairings**: pre-Sylar/Luke

**Rating**: PG  
**Wordcount**: 175

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Sylar/Luke, the only gift Sylar ever gave him

* * *

Ten years after Luke left home and Mom and any chance at being normal, he meets up with Sylar again. Sylar looks exactly the same, but Luke's about an inch taller and filled out a little bit. He's slightly more tan, too.

"Luke," Sylar says, eyes flicking around at the bodies. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Yeah," Luke replies, frying another man as he tries to escape. "Shocking, I'm sure."

Behind them, the White House is burning. Peter Petrelli is screaming at his brother as Claire Bennet tries to explain that it had to be done. Luke doesn't know where the doctor went, or the scary blonde chick. He wonders what side Sylar is on tonight.

"By the way," Luke says, meeting Sylar's dark eyes, "thanks."

Sylar asks, "For what?"

"You gave me the best gift of my life, takin' me outta that hellhole," Luke tells him, glancing at the destruction. "I wouldn't be here now if you hadn't."

"Well," Sylar says, smirking. "Why don't you show me what you've learned since then."

Luke grins.


	19. on the flipside

**Title**: on the flipside

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: very future!fic

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG  
**Wordcount**: 190

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: author's choice, once upon a time we all thought we could change the world

* * *

In his sleep, he remembers the old days. Back when he'd just started flying. He was so young then.

She was, too. Just a child. Even what they thought was horrible then, like blowing up New York... not such a big deal, looking back.

Shit, they were so _young_.

And now, they are so very old. Now, he's the head of the council and she's his enforcer, and the world is theirs to command, theirs to destroy, and no one dares defy them.

Well, that's not entirely accurate. And who would have ever thought…

Sylar was the boogeyman back at the beginning, and now he's the last hope of the masses, the one they pray to, the one they whisper about when they think nobody's listening.

Of course, somebody is always listening.

In his sleep, he remembers the night he met them both, and it all seems like some story, like it happened to someone else.

But no. He is a god, now, and Claire is his right hand, and Sylar is still always forever his enemy, the only one with the power to stop him.

The same way it's always been.


	20. oracle

**Title**: oracle

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: AUish

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 140

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Claire & any, Someone gets sick of Claire's complaining and finally tells her to shut up (Bonus if it's Micah or Molly)

* * *

"Oh, my God, shut _up_!" Molly finally screams, lunging out of the chair and whirling around to glare at Claire. "Yes, we get it-your power sucks. Boohoo, you'll live forever and watch everyone die and can't feel pain." She takes a deep breath and rushes on before Claire opens her mouth. "I already watched everyone die. You still have your family, even though Sylar keeps targeting you."

Claire stands, angry now, but Molly doesn't care. "I really don't give a fuck what you think, Claire, and I'm tired of hearing about it, so go whine and rant somewhere else."

Matt and Mohinder blink at her, and Micah's grinning while Peter's mouth hangs open. Mr. Bennet looks from her to Claire and back, and Molly says, "Don't worry, I'm going to my room."

She strides out, head held high.


	21. the killing edge

**Title**: the killing edge

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: AU

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG  
**Wordcount**: 42

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Sylar/Claire, guilty

* * *

She trained and learned and remembered what all happened, to give her rage and hate and a fire hot enough to burn him out, burn him away.

She hunted him down (he didn't really hide) and did her very best.

He laughed.


	22. known but forbidden

**Title**: known but forbidden

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Anne Sexton

**Warnings**: future!fic

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**:220

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Author's choice; author's choice; God screamed and screamed, then I ate him.

* * *

Gabriel Gray used to dream about changing the world. When Gabriel Gray realized that he was only special by stealing powers, he ceased to be and Sylar rose from his ashes, Sylar without regret or remorse, Sylar in a fire of rage and despair. And as Sylar, he collected dozens of powers, mastering them all, but then, _then_—

Even Sylar balked at destroying an entire city.

Things happened, though, and eventually Sylar lost that last tiny piece of a conscience. He learned how to steal the power without killing, and then ignored the lesson.

And now Sylar has an entire carnival of people to study, though Sylar doesn't know he's Sylar. He's Gabriel again, after having been Nathan, but a monster only sleeps for so long.

And Gabriel learns two dozen powers without even knowing it, and Claire reveals their existence to the world, and Sylar laughs, spreading his wings and roaring to the forefront, and Peter shouts, "Gabriel, _don't_!"

But Sylar gazes out of Gabriel's eyes, and there is no one in the world with the ability to stop him, for Sylar commands them all.

Even God runs from him now.

(Gabriel Gray dreamed of changing the world. Sylar reforms the world to his whim, and when God protests, Sylar cuts open his head to see just how the Creator works.)


	23. I thought of your body

**Title**: I thought of your body as one thinks of murder

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Anne Sexton

**Warnings**: very future!fic

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG  
**Wordcount**: 90

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Heroes, Mohinder/Sylar, "I don't need you anymore."

* * *

He asked for Mohinder's help, once. He sometimes wonders how much of what happened would've been avoided, if Mohinder had just given him that help.

The rest of the time, he doesn't care. In the end, he got what he wanted. In the end, he's a god and a king and the only _special_ person left, and if Mohinder had helped him that day...

He wouldn't be here. He's almost sure of that.

Sometimes, he wishes Mohinder were still around to reward. The rest of the time... he doesn't care.


	24. Child of the scars of fire

**Title**: Child of the scars of fire

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Carl Sandburg

**Warnings**: "I Am Become Death" future!fic

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 220

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Heroes, Noah Gray/author's choice, Nightmare Fuel Coloring Book

* * *

"Don't worry," Dr. Calson tells her, her very first day on the floor. "You'll get used to it." He gives her an encouraging grin and she tries smiling back.

She doesn't want to be here. She wants to help, she really does, but...

_Please,_ Rebel texts her then, just as her determination is wavering. _We need him_.

So she takes a deep breath, steels herself, and goes to sit with Noah Gray. Sylar's son.

_His father's sins are not his,_ Angela Petrelli told her. _He's a good kid,_ Peter said. But Bennet summed it up best when he muttered, _We need him_.

Another deep breath. It's hard not to keep a wary eye out for Sylar, because no one knows where he is, not since he destroyed Costa Verde and only three people survived—Peter, Claire, and Noah. Noah hasn't spoken since. All he does is draw broken watches and mushroom clouds, and a new special is sent to watch him every week. It's her turn for the next seven days.

Dr. Calson says, "He is a very sweet boy. Such a shame." She nods, looking down at Noah, at his shaggy hair and big eyes, at the crayon mushroom cloud exploding from a cracked watch-face.

_sylar_ is scrawled along the outside of the watch-face, and Dr. Calson is smiling.


	25. You made him, now create his equal

**Title**: You made him, now create his equal

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from _Gilgamesh_.

**Warnings**: spoilers for season 3; AU for season 4

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 910

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Notes**: this is very old. I'm tired of it being on my computer, so I'm tossing it out into the interwebs.

* * *

On Nathan Petrelli's inauguration day, he told the people to expect change. "A great day is upon us, my friends," he said. "Be ready."

The past few years could not be erased, but Petrelli said that a new day dawned. "We have let down our fellow citizens," the president announced. "We must make amends."

Dr. Mohinder Suresh stood by Petrelli's side, as did his brother. His mother stood at his back, her smile seemingly pasted on and fake.

"Darling," she said as they walked to the limousine. "Now what?"

He kissed her cheek. "Don't worry, Ma," he assured her. "I know what I'm doing."

o0o

"Nice speech," Luke said as the president settled on the couch.

"Thanks, kiddo," he replied, cracking his neck and shifting his skin. "I think the people enjoyed it."

"What are you doing?" Mohinder demanded, looking over his shoulder. "Sylar!"

"Fine, fine." Sylar sighed and shifted back to Nathan's face. "You worry too much, Mohinder." He turned to Molly. "Have you found him yet?"

Molly nodded, eyes going distant. "He's in Miami."

The president considered for a moment. "Luke," he decided, glancing down at the boy. "Take my daughter and Molly; bring him home."

Luke stood. "Yes, Mr. President," he said. Molly followed him to the door.

"And Luke," Petrelli called. "Don't cause any permanent damage. We want him on our side."

o0o

The first few months of his term, President Petrelli repealed many of the restrictions on the specials. He reached out, soothing fears and making allies. He was universally adored, by specials and normals alike.

Specials migrated from all over the world and the other nations began to worry. Some suggested that Petrelli was building an army, and all the president ever did was smile.

He listened to the Joint Chiefs and his other advisors. He shook hands with soldiers and cancer patients, kissed babies, and invited world leaders to the White House for brunch.

When he was up for reelection, he won by a landslide.

o0o

"Well?" Luke said, slouched against the wall, Molly on one side and Claire on the other.

The president looked at Micah and raised an eyebrow. "Can you do it?"

Micah nodded. "It'll be difficult—but I think I can." He opened his eyes and stepped back from the computer. "I don't suppose you have some sort of power booster."

"Actually," Sylar said. "I do." He walked to the door and called, "Mohinder! Bring Red to the War Room."

o0o

Three weeks after Nathan Petrelli's reelection, a worldwide virus took out computers. It traveled through the internet and shut them down. No matter how the people tried, or the failsafes they had in place, no computer came back on.

The only exception, though no one talked about it, was the White House.

o0o

Sylar sat in the Oval Office, the most powerful man in the world.

Peter stared at him, unable to think of a thing to say. He kept opening his mouth and closing it, discarding the words.

"Did—does Mom know?" he finally asked.

Sylar nodded, smiling. "She's the one who put me in your brother's skin, Pete. She told Parkman to give me his memories and make me believe I _was_ Nathan Petrelli." He stood and walked around the desk, stopping in front of Peter. "Your brother will be remembered as the greatest, most beloved president in history."

"And what are you gonna do?" Peter asked, staring up at Sylar with wet eyes.

"Join me," Sylar said. "And find out."

o0o

The attack on the White House happened at dawn. President Petrelli was killed immediately. At least, that's what all the records said.

He was remembered as the greatest, most beloved president in the short history of the United States.

o0o

Sylar took power with an army of specials, though everyone on his side—and soon enough, those who weren't—knew he didn't need an army. Anything one of his followers could do, he could do better. But he had one limitation: he couldn't be in two places at once. Not yet.

Luke said, "What now?"

Sylar shrugged. "I never really thought beyond replacing myself with the right face."

o0o

Four weeks after President Petrelli's death, computers turned back on and nations tried bombing America, hoping to kill Sylar.

"Nice try," Sylar laughed in worldwide broadcast. "As of now, this planet is mine."

o0o

It wasn't long before people realized that, in all honesty, nothing had changed. So long as no one threatened him or his generals, Sylar seemed to have a live-and-let-live policy.

"You know," Sylar mused one night to Mohinder, "Sometimes, I wish I could thank Arthur Petrelli."

"Why?" Mohinder asked.

Sylar smiled. "If he hadn't shown me a way to harvest abilities without killing, I'd be completely alone."

o0o

"So," Micah said. He looked at Molly shyly. "Wanna go out sometime?"

She grinned, taking his hand. "I like seafood."

"Oh, I'm gonna barf," Luke grumbled. "Take the sickeningly sweet display somewhere else, kids."

Claire chuckled. "I think they're cute."

Luke cut the deck in two, giving her half. "You would."

o0o

"Mom," Peter asked. "Did you… is this what you wanted?"

Angela looked down the row of tombstones, at the people who died because they wouldn't compromise with Sylar, couldn't see past what he'd once been.

"No," she answered quietly. "But I learned a long time ago to make the best of things."

_And to wait_, she didn't say. She turned her face to the sky and savored the sunlight on her skin.


End file.
